Harry and the Three Factions
by AbaddontheDevourer
Summary: Terrible title but this is currently a [one-shot] awaiting expansion depending on your responses. Harry Potter, Master of Death, fleeing from his clingy Servant awakens to find himself in the beginning of Great War between the Three Factions. How will he fare when a Fallen refuses to stop pursuing him and a Seraph wants to protect him?


Chapter 8: Harry Potter x DxD MOD Harry Prologue

Author's Note: Plot bunnies for Highschool DxD and HP crossover. 2 different approaches, the first being a MOD!Harry who dies and is then sent into the DxD world. The harem would mostly be mature women so: Gabriel, Penemue, Kalawarner, Yasaka etc. The other approach is inspired by Lupine Horror in which Harry summons Mepisto Pheles as a child and is taken away by him to be raised as a Magician. That harem would have a fem!Vali as the main girl and Harry joining her group. His magic would pretty much be high powered bombardment spells. This is the MOD!Harry opening sequence.

Silence filled the void.

An endless silence that had stretched an eternity.

The lone figure sat on a comfortable throne, screens showing everything in existence hovered in front of her. Her elbow rested against the armrest, cradling her chin, and to anyone that saw her at that moment would see her boredom. Though none would ever be able to contemplate it.

For an eternity she had sat on that throne, watching over creation, observing the fleeting lives of humanity which served as her only source of entertainment. She'd never admit it but she was lonely. In this place where day and night had no meaning, where time itself was unknown, and known only through her observations, she dwelt watching as everything toiled through an endless cycle of birth and death. She never understood why they existed only that they did, trying to make the best of their fleeting lives. They knew that there lives were short and tried to make the best of it, trying to fulfill some sort of purpose.

It was a feeling that she knew not. She was omnipotent, omnipresent, and eternal, to her who knew no beginning nor end she was not able to relate.

Then it all Changed.

She would never forget that moment, a male human, young and barely into adulthood had taken hold of three of her trinkets that she had created to amuse herself, and in so doing unknowingly created a bond between them. From then all her attention was focused on him. For centuries she had watched him, carefully observing and judging the man who was her partner, yet did not know about her true being, only that which was old in story and seen by all. Soon that would change.

The forces that dictated fate were drawing closer, weaving the final days of his life, preparing to snip the thread that held him to his mortal coil.

The Earth would claim the body of the Hero, but she would claim his soul.

All of creation must pass through her realm to await judgment, never before had an exception been made.

But he was hers.

When the time came and his last breath left his frail form, she would sever the tie between the immortal and mortal so that he may make the last journey. She would not claim him as she claimed all others.

From her robe she removed a long glass vial, lovingly stroking the intertwined strings held within, one born of the void, the other golden and immortal. The moment that he had united her objects a new thread had been created, this was the only truth that mattered to her now. Now for the first time in millennia she felt anxious, counting down the days before he would join her.

Soon the silence would end, as the greatest of the primordial forces joined and lay with her immortal master.

Eternal silence would break, and all creation would tremble, for none not even The Gods would ever escape her grasp.

It had been a long day at the office.

The hours had droned by as he was cooped up in meeting after meeting each room filled with politicians more pig-headed and stubborn than the last. Each and every one of them corrupt and degenerate, clamoring for his favor, under the preconceived notions that their ideas were more important than their peers. He vehemently cursed the lot of them as he poured himself two fingers of the ancient scotch Professor McGonagall had given to him on her death bed. At first he had no idea how the old battle-axe enjoyed the powerful liquor that burned its way down his throat, but after a decade or two of learning he had come to appreciate the drink over the fire inducing magical whiskey. He'd go so far as to say that he was a connoisseur of the smoky sweet drink, however he'd fervently deny that he was an alcoholic even if he did own a majority stake in most of the high end distributors.

Falling into his favorite recliner by the fireplace he wordlessly and wandlessly flicked his hand igniting a fire in the ancient hearth. He cursed his younger and more naive self, all his current frustrations stemmed from decisions he had made when he was a new-blood politician just entering the death trap that was the Wizengamot. Back then the war against Voldemort had still been fresh in everybody's mind, and the bill that he had introduced at the urging of Hermione, passed unanimously, instantly repealing the ancient laws that allowed duels to the death to settle matters. Now that he thought about it Hermione was the source of all his troubles. She had forced him to put forth that bill to appease all of the noble families who were still in an uproar over how he handled the entirety of the Second Blood War. He snorted in amusement remembering the clamor that they had made over the fact that he had annihilated entire family lines, pruning them from the proverbial tree. To him those families weren't branches but weeds choking their society, preventing it from reaching its true potential. He had done the entire British community a favor by vaporizing the lot of them. All he wanted was to be allowed to go back to his experiments and research after the war but noooooo...Hermione had pretty much chained him up and laid down the law as she locked his research room up, and threw away the key until such a time as the mess he created was cleaned up. He should've taken the offer from those American Unspeakables all those years ago. Massive funding, free reign to pursue anything he wanted, and a team of intelligent henches with ambiguous and loose morals willing to dive into the darkest of secrets in pursuit of a goal. Most importantly they would not nag him when he disappeared into his lair for a week at a time, or fell asleep at his desk, or unleashed an eldritch monstrosity upon Wizarding Britain. If anything they'd probably give him a medal or at least quietly increase his budget.

Even now centuries after he had killed that snake-faced bastard, the original blood purist descendants continued to be a thorn in his side. He didn't think it was possible but the Malfoy's had gotten even more annoying over the years, and all the inbreeding had made their once aristocratic looks devolve into more animalistic ones, specifically ferret-like. He chuckled to himself during some of their meetings, remembering when Draco had been turned into a ferret during his schooling. Thinking about the Malfoys actually made him remember Narcissa, or more importantly the nights that they had spent together. The face Draco made when he had come home one night to see his mother laid out over the table had powered his patronus for decades.

Although the thought of retiring to the beaches of France or retreating into his secret lair in Belgium where he could surround himself with veela once more passed through his mind more than once, though he had to grimace at the stern lecture that awaited him should he try to flee the country on anything but official business. If it wasn't for Hermione he'd had retired from government and public altogether years ago, or more likely he'd have destroyed them all while testing one of his new inventions (completely accidental) he'd swear.

Honestly if he'd known that dragging Wizarding Britain into the modern era was going to take close to four and a half centuries he'd have negotiated some vacation time from Hermione. Now though it was done and he'd finally be able to kick back relax, and get back on track with the latest of his inventions.

The Treaty of Equality had passed through the Wizengamot in no small part to Slytherin cunning and ruthlessness. Purchasing up all the outstanding debts of the Dark Families had almost cut his fortunes in half, but it was well worth the effort. As he sipped his scotch, he wondered why he had never thought of the plan before. With his enemies financial stability to do with as he wished, he had threatened to call in all of their markers and bankrupt the lot of them if they refused to yield to his demands. To remain eligible as a sitting member of the Wizengamot required a certain amount of capital i.e. bribe money, and his actions would have not only put all the opposition in the red, kicked them off their familial seats, it would've probably broken the community's economical back. The threat had been clear, and he had taken flak from both sides as well as that rag he sometimes used to wipe his arse (The Daily Prophet), yet everything he had done had been perfectly legal, and the goblins hadn't charged him through the nose in fees figuring this was a chance to screw over the factions that thought of them as sub-human and no better than creatures. All in all it was a win-win for everyone that mattered.

Reclining in the handcrafted chair he had made for himself decades ago, he turned to the massive portrait that hung above the mantle. "To you, Hermione. The greatest sister that a guy could ask for." He said raising his glass in salute. The portrait was still, after all it wasn't a wizarding one, those still gave him the creeps whenever he came across one of them. "426 years sis, but it's finally done. I wish you were here to see it Hermione. You'd be proud at the future you inspired. And most importantly you'd be here to unlock my labs." He joked, downing the last of his scotch.

The fatigue from today was catching up to him. Never before had he felt so tired, not even after he had put down the first of what would be many supposed Dark Lords and Ladies. Closing his eyes, his head lolling back and forth as he vainly fought off the exhaustion he fell not Morpheus' embrace, but Death's welcoming arms.

When Harry awoke he had a splitting headache and for once it was not induced by blithering politicians or the alcohol they drove him to. The headache however was not his most pressing issue it was the chair that was currently sitting on. Instead of his handmade recliner inlaid with dozens of charms to make it absolutely the most comfortable thing in existence he was sitting on a hard wood chair that he knew was going to play havoc with his back come morning. He hated growing old, and once more the thought of continuing his research into age regression potion as well as creating a new philosopher's stone weighed heavily on his mind. Sighing once more, he pushed such thoughts deep within himself and locked it behind his occlumency barriers. Hermione had pretty much forbade him from ever actively seeking immortality as well as time travel after he had jokingly (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) declared that he would use such powers to rule over a global empire as an immortal God-King. He wasn't sure if it was due to her fear that he would actually concoct and follow through with such a plan or if it was because he had declared he'd take her with him and she would rule at his side as the Bellatrix to his perfectly sane and more charismatic Tom Riddle.

He just couldn't understand why Hermione had taken offense to the analogy. He'd be the first to admit that the woman was slightly unhinged, but under the veil of craziness was a beautiful woman who he was sure epitomized femininity and power. She was steadfast in her loyalty, and had things been different and had she not been betrothed to the bastard Lestrange family he was sure that she would've gone far in life, most likely because everyone above her mysteriously vanished or she turned them into a stain on the wall after a duel. Honestly if he had a woman like that by his side nothing would've been impossible. Even if he arrogantly thought nothing was impossible for him if he set his mind to it, some things sure as hell took longer than others, and a woman like Bellatrix would've certainly sped up the process.

Sighing to himself he made a mental note, "Find qualified and efficient Henchgirl." Now that his task from Hermione was completed and he would be getting back to his research he'd need a good assistant, one preferably with ambiguous morals and that wouldn't judge him too harshly. Even in death Hermione, who he fondly thought of as his sister and first assistant continued to hound him via the avatar she had made before her untimely demise. The damned thing had been imprinted with all her memories and her stalwart personality to boot, making it hard for him to carry out some of his more borderline experiments. He smiled fondly at the memory of his second year when he had gone against the basilisk.

Flashback Starts:

 _"Speak to me Salazar, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four."_ Voldemort hissed. The weathered stone visage slowly opened its mouth, ancient stone creaking and grinding the sound reverberating throughout the damp and foul chamber.

The ancient basilisk prided child of Salazar Slytherin, her monstrous size easily exceeding 25 metres, quickly slithered from the old snake charmer's mouth, hissing threateningly, answering the call of its master.

 _"Kill him!"_ Voldemort commanded, and the ancient creature obeyed, focusing its deadly glare on him. Calmly he stared back at the noble serpent, and its face (if one could call it that) shifted to shock.

The basilisk stared.

He stared back.

Voldemort kept yelling in Parseltongue.

They both continued to stare at one another, the Basilisk lowered her head so that they were staring directly at one another.

Harry began to frown, and the Basilisk cringed, shirking back.

Harry smiled triumphantly reaching into his robes and pulling out a runed scythe used for harvesting in one hand as well as grasping the edge of his robe in the other, opening it wide to display an assortment of tools used for processing creatures.

A shiver ran through the beast as memories long since buried burst to the surface. A young woman dressed in resplendent blue and gold robes, who used to sneak into her home when her master was distracted and would harvest parts from her, as soon as she was old enough to produce venom.

Sometimes the woman would poke and prod her with dangerous and terrifying instruments.

All the while she would be whispering in what she must've thought was a soothing voice. "It's for science and knowledge." Sometimes she wouldn't talk, instead cackling madly, as she worked her tools to remove scales and her precious venom. The fact of the matter was that every time the ancient serpent heard her voice a sense of foreboding would fill her, and she'd be petrified in fear.

" _NOT ANOTHER ROWENA!"_ The ancient queen of serpents hissed, and with surprising dexterity turned around and began slithering as fast as possible to her home, trying to get over the trauma that assaulted her from her younger years. Within seconds the beast was back in its home, and the last thing both of them saw was the creature hissing towards the statue, _"Close and Lock."_

Both Harry and Voldemort stared dumbly at the statue. Harry at the loss of valuable reagents he could've used, and Voldemort who had just seen Slytherin's prided serpent run away as memories of Rowena Ravenclaw assailed her.

"Well…" Harry began, putting away his scythe. "That didn't go as planned."

Voldemort, still in shock, could only nod dumbly. As if by some unknown signal both men snapped back to reality, as Voldemort raised Ginny's wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

A bolt of emerald flashed forth, and Harry nimbly dodged, raising his own wand. "Fiendfyre!" Harry intoned, exerting his powerful will upon the flames, shaping it into a whip that extended from his wand. With a single flick of his wrist he had it around Tom's neck, and he pulled the hellish flames searing through the soul and destroying the anchor that held it to the mortal plane.

It was only then, that Fawkes decided to show up with the Sorting Hat in tow. Reaching inside of the hat, he pulled a silver goblin crafted scythe from within, and with a manic gleam in his eye turned back to the statue of Salazar Slytherin. "BOMBARDA! BOMBARDA! BOMBARDA!" Over and over he fired the powerful bombardment curse; he would not be denied his reagents. When finally he breached all the defenses surrounding the basilisk's home, he was greeted by a sight that would forever remain lodged in his mind. A 25m-30m serpent whose very gaze was deadly was cowering in the furthest corner of the room, trying to make itself as small as possible, something that it was epically failing at. It took one look at the goblin scythe in his hand and made a break for it, attempting to flee into a pipe barely wide enough to accommodate it. "Oh no you don't." Harry sneered, conjuring a slab of iron that acted to cover the manhole. He cackled as the Basilisk attempted to attack him, before beginning what would leave Ginny Weasley with nightmares for the rest of her life, and would forever destroy her crush on the boy-who lived.

Afterwards he had decided it was time to wake Hermione up, and boy was she angry when she awoke, having been the recipient of his experimental Mandrake potion.

Flashback Ends:

 _Good times._ He grinned.

From there her attempts to keep him in line evolved to the point that her nagging surpassed that of the Weasley Matron.

"No Harry! You can't test a mass hallucinogen on the student body."

The time that she had barged into his lab where his test subject, a Hufflepuff first year, was strapped to an operating table. "Release the firstie Harry! Contrary to your beliefs you cannot cut them open no matter the amount of money that their parents accepted. They are this country's future and are not as expendable as you think."

His all-time favorite though had to have been when he had discovered the dragons to be used during the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. "No Harry, you cannot build a satellite weapon that conjures boulders and drops them on your enemies. First off I don't think you have enough time to do so, and secondly I don't think the judges would appreciate being hit by a cataclysmic attack that would probably plunge the world into a new ice age. Should they somehow survive I'm pretty sure that they would take points off for killing the dragon, destroying whatever you need to retrieve, and almost killing them.

Eventually he had broken her down and she gave in to his more harmless ideas, such as randomly coating Dumbledore's lemon drops in either Ghost Chili extract, LSD, or a mixture of both. That had been a fun experiment in conditioning, and he had learned that even blistering pain or showing up to an ICW meeting high as a kite couldn't stop a habit built up over several decades.

She had even joined in one time when he decided to test a new tranquilizer, she had especially appreciated him painting her blowgun bright pink, on Professor Umbridge. Results of the test varied from instantly subduing the toad like woman, to causing mild fits of hysteria and insanity. By the time he finished refining the drug he had managed to eliminate just about all of the pesky side effects though he had never managed to solve the problem associated with the memory wiping aspect that left the target unable to control their drooling.

Shaking his head in amusement he made a second mental note to construct a special pensieve where he could store all his memories of their time together. He sometimes looked back on those memories, remembering the first time he had met Hermione, all those years ago. No matter what may have happened, no matter how dangerous the school had gotten as he stepped over the threshold, looking back he there was no point that he would truly say that he was unlucky.

No Hermione, his sister had changed his life for the better always by his side, even in death. Most days he tried to forget the past, running from the death that trailed after him. Looking back wasn't going to help him, therefore moving forward was the only thing that he could do.

Opening his eyes, he was greeted not by the sight of a roaring hearth, nor the ancient walls of his castle but by an endless void as far as the eye could see. A new question surfaced in his mind of equal priority to why he was sitting on a hardback chair. "Where in the Hell am I?"


End file.
